Adrenaline
by whatsamatta
Summary: He liked her, so of course he made sure that she got home. And she liked him, so of course she invited him inside. Everything else was just, adrenaline, right? *The Relic. Lots of naughty words and naughty things described with naughty words, because that's what I'm good at*


_**Disclaimer: I love this movie, and every time I watch it, I think of how much love it needs. And with what has happened over the last few months, I needed a distraction. **_The Relic_** does not belong to me, in part or whole. I'd like to think this is what would have unfolded if the movie continued just a little bit longer. Enjoy.**_

_**R**_

"_\- the __**fuck**__ is that?!_" echoed from down the hall, and Margo laughed at the absurdity in his voice. Even in another room she could see the face he was bound to be making.

"What's what?" she called back while holding open the fridge door. She had a craving for meat and potatoes – though it had been a while since she'd last been food shopping and she couldn't remember what she had in her reserves. The last few days had been wild, to say the least.

"_What the fuck is_ attached to your toilet?" making his way into the kitchen while doing up his pants, his voice was incredulous but he was smirking.

"That's just Charlie. If you'd like that drink there's a bottle under the sink." She nodded to the cabinet even as she manhandled a package of steaks from the fridge shelf and a bag of yellow potatoes from the bottom drawer. The meat was starting to turn brown but smelled ok, the potatoes were a little eyebally and wrinkly, but with enough seasoning everything could taste good – especially when cooked at 400 degrees.

"Water _shoots up your ass_ like a goddamn enema, and you name the thing Charlie." This time he did laugh as he pulled out a bottle of mid-shelf scotch whiskey, observing a bottle of Absinthe behind it. He found the glasses in a cabinet to the right of the fridge and began pouring them each a stiff drink.

"Jealous?"

The both paused at the drop in her voice, and his smirked became almost boyish as he turned back to their glasses.

"Maybe." He replied with a chuckle, handing her the drink while sitting at her kitchen table, content to watch her labor.

She made quick work of the potatoes – they were small and only about six in number – chopping and coating them in a liberal mix of olive oil, salt, pepper and rosemary. Preheating the oven, she took a sip of her whiskey and coughed before pulling out the baking pans and moving over to season the steak.

"So, home cooking huh?" leaning back in the chair, he loosened the tie around his neck and thought again about just how bad he smelled.

"Yeah, well, it's late and all the good take out is closed – unless you feel like risking life and limb on Chance Chinese or Greasy Pizza. Although I don't know how good this meat still is, so that might still be on the table." She laughed with a shake of her head while searing the steak before popping it in the oven with the potatoes. The cloud of hot air filled the small space with the heavenly scent of rosemary. All at once Vincent was salivating, from the aroma and other things.

Sitting heavily at the table across from her guest, Margo took a deeper drink of the whiskey, coughed, and sighed.

"So."

"So."

The stared at each other for a few moments.

"Fuck."

…_**...40 minutes earlier….**_

Having limped their way out of the Museum, Lieutenant D'Agosta and Dr. Green stood on the steps to the building amid the lights and sirens. While she seemed to be handling things well, all things considered, he still handed her off to Dr. Cuthbert who was sitting in the back of the nearest ambulance, before making his way over to Hollingsworth, Mayor Owen, and Captain Martin.

_What joy is mine_ he thought with a grimace as he checked in with the men as fast as possible. Surprisingly enough, he left the meeting with his job intact – he had told the Mayor to shut his fucking mouth, after all – and a new respect for both the Mayor and Hollingsworth. But not the Captain, that guy was still a fucking fuck as far as he was concerned. He was back at the ambulance inside of ten minutes, asking if he could take Margo anywhere.

With a smile she said he could take her home, wished Ann a good night and that she would call her in the morning, and followed him to his vehicle. She gave him that same smile at the door to her little house in Near South Side with a _would you like to come in Lieutenant_, maybe have a drink to ease the waning adrenaline? Giving her his most charming and humble grin, he agreed that sounded _wonderful_.

Of course as soon as they were inside did she realize she was barefoot and still covered in Rhino Soup, and so politely told him to make himself comfortable while she took a quick shower to wash off, well, _everything_. She had to admit that she was partly surprised to find him still around - asleep on her sofa, no less - when she emerged from the bathroom in an old university tee and some sweatpants. He had browsed the titles on her book shelf, looked over her displayed photos – she spent a lot of time with Dr. Cuthbert and the Late Dr. Frock – before sitting down on her couch and promptly falling asleep.

Her entrance awoke him, though, and with an embarrassed grin he asked where her bathroom was while she hunted for something to eat.

…_**45 minutes later…..**_

The timer on the oven slowly counted down as they watched each other in silence. The whiskey became smoother the more they drank, although as Margo watched him drink she thought he already handled it like a pro.

"So Lieutenant-"

"Vincent."

"So Vincent, do you like steak? I didn't even think to ask before starting." He laughed again, taking another slow drink from his glass before answering.

"Well Doctor-"

"Margo."

"Well Margo, I do enjoy steak. And potatoes. In fact, even if I didn't, I'd say right about now I could eat anything. Then again, Denise always said I could eat whatever was put in front of me." She gave him another one of those smiles over the rim of her glass.

"Denise your wife?"

"Ex – don't know why I brought her up."

"Well, she played a part in making you who you are now. Even if it ended badly, there's no shame in talking about her. You must have cared even at some point otherwise you wouldn't have married her." She paused again, and the smile became more playful, "Unless she was loaded, and you were just in it for the money."

They both laughed, and while hers died a natural death his morphed into a groan as the ache in his back started to settle in.

"Sore?"

"Yeah, starting to think I'm getting too old to be thrown into walls by metal doors during an explosion." He groaned again, stretching his neck and shoulders.

"I told you it was a stupid idea, locking me in." her teasing was light, but she did stand and move into the kitchen. After rifling around in a drawer, she came back with a couple of aspirin and held them out to him.

"I underestimated you; won't make that mistake again." His voice was low as he accepted her offering, and she ignored the implication of his words in favor of his hand that had begun caressing her wrist. The only movement between them was the stroking of his fingers and the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. The air between them took on an electric quality, and as he tugged her down and she met his eyes she was certain that –

The timer went off on the oven, breaking them apart slowly. With a laugh, she pulled her arm away and moved over to the oven while he washed the pills down with some whiskey. Having taken the baking sheets out, she checked the steak for pinkness. She had just shut off the oven and popped a scorching hot potato in her mouth when she backed up into a pair of hands on her hips.

Immediately she could feel Vincent's lips moving along her neck, dragging her shirt away so he could ravage her shoulder as well. Gripping the oven door, she threw her head back and slowly ground her hips into his, relishing the tightening of his fingers and the moan he let slip. Pushing forward while pulling her closer still, he let one hand slide under and up her shirt – his moan turning into a groan when he met the bare flesh of her breast. She wasn't wearing a bra. His other hand moved passed the waistband of her sweats to find more flesh. She wasn't wearing panties either.

"_Christ_." He muttered against her skin as her own hands were far from idle. One made its way up to scratch lightly at the back of his neck, the other slithered down and around to squeeze his ass through his pants.

It all started falling away – all the people who died, all the damage and the trauma. Until there was nothing left but Vincent and Margo in the small kitchen, the scent of meat and potatoes cocooning them in.

Spinning in his grasp, Margo grabbed what she could of his short hair and forced his mouth to yield to her own. He had always been the dominate one when it came to sex – to have a woman control him like that was sexy as hell. Thrusting up against her, she let out a strangled mixture of a gasp and laughter, before pushing him away from her and towards the closest dinning chair. Falling into it, he was more than willing to show her how at her mercy he really was. As he sat there, the presence of mind came to him that he should help things along, and began undoing his belt and pants.

Yet he never took his eyes off her, as she sauntered her way over to him, pulling down her sweatpants as she went. Letting them slip down and stepping out of them without missing a beat – something of a miracle – she moved to straddle his hips and claim his mouth again in one motion.

The loose belt buckle and undone zipper of his pants against her the heated skin of her pelvis had her breaking away from his lips to gasp in delight. He tried to pull her shirt over her head, but her hands wouldn't stop gripping his scalp and fisting in his shirt. Instead he settled for mouthing and sucking on her nipples through the soft fabric of her worn shirt, groaning against her breasts when she started undulating her hips against his.

If they weren't hurried before, now they were frenzied. She roughly pulled his cock from his pants, stroking it while guiding it to her slick flesh. He was so turned on he thought he might actually die – he'd couldn't remember ever fucking so rough. It seemed like he always had to do even a little bit a foreplay before he could get anywhere close to home, and here she was damn near fucking his brains out without even an introductory fingering.

Fuck it was hot.

Margo had been on the precipice of an orgasm since his hand caught hers at the table. Maybe even before. She rode him with all that she had, squeezing her muscles around him – not the longest cock she'd even had but he was thick and firm and filled her so deliciously that her mouth started to water. Throwing her head back, one hand slipped around his neck and down his shirt to grip at his back. The other ended up in her own hair, which she pulled. Feeling that fantastic tickle in the nerves around were they were joined, she moved harder trying to force that sweet release.

As she writhed and moaned above him, Vincent lifted his head just enough to see her. Trapped within her lust, she was the sexiest fucking thing he ever saw. Growling into her breast, he began sucking and biting harder, gripping her hips in a vice to force her up and down on his cock. He could feel his own tingling pressure building at the base of his spine and in his balls – and began thrusting in earnest.

"Oh-oh **fu-uck**!" she cried above him, squeezing around him so tightly it was damn near violent. As she went rigged, he gripped her hips and pounded the last leg home.

"_Fuck_." Quietly muttered against her breast, they both panted their way back to reality. Lifting her head from her back, she met his brilliantly blue eyes, and smiled as they both began to laugh.

"Christ, I don't think I've ever fucked that hard before." His voice was rough with sex, and despite that they had just finished she still found it arousing. She laughed lightly at the thought, but was interrupted by the juxtaposition of his contented smile and serious eyes.

"Wanna go out sometime?"

Instead of answering him immediately, she smiled and leaned down to kiss him softly yet thoroughly.

"Would you like to see the bedroom, Vincent?" her voice was enticing.

"You know Margo, I think I would."

Slowly they separated, although she had to lean on him for a few minutes while she waited for the feeling to come back to her legs. A saucy smirk on her lips, she watched him as she lifted her shirt over her head and let it fall to the floor beside her. Those perky little tits, damp with his saliva, had him feeling hard again.

But first she led him to the bathroom – he did still smell _not_ like roses – and showed him **exactly** how to use her shower. From there, damp and relaxed from the hot water, they fell into her soft sheets and he was torn between fucking her senseless again or falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Luckily, she made the decision for them.

Giving him a few delightful tugs, she pulled him above her and between her thighs. There he proceeded to hump her into the mattress while swallowing her moans and gasps and squeals. Once orgasms had been achieved, they promptly feel asleep where they were, as if axed while in the middle of sex. Adrenaline, it seems, has a way of doing that.

In the morning, they had steak and eggs and potatoes with the contented smiles over their coffee mugs.

_**R**_


End file.
